


Dissociation

by OhZee



Series: Dissociation [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhZee/pseuds/OhZee
Summary: Geralt had to fight the urge to shake him back to life, a terrible gnawing fear in his gut. They had taken too long to find him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dissociation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041293
Comments: 11
Kudos: 269





	Dissociation

They found Jaskier in a cell in the lower levels. He was curled up in a corner, knees to his chest, his arms held tightly against himself. There were visible burns on his bare arms and legs as Geralt burst into the cell, calling his name, taking in his condition as he practically fell to his knees in front of him. Jaskier did not respond. His eyes were open but vacant, gazing sightlessly at nothing. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat, but Jaskier was breathing, alive. He was just not there. His awareness had sunken somewhere inside himself, the only form of escape he had been afforded.

Geralt had to fight the urge to shake him back to life, a terrible gnawing fear in his gut. They had taken too long to find him.

He reached out hesitantly. More carefully than he had ever done anything, he leaned close and took Jaskier’s face in his hands as if he might shatter, tilted his head up so those absent eyes were directed at him.

“Jaskier,” he coaxed softly. “Jaskier,” he repeated, stroking his thumbs lightly against his cheekbones, like it might physically draw forth Jaskier’s mind from wherever it was buried. “Jaskier, come on, come back to me,” he pleaded, again and again, his voice never rising from its low, soothing cadence.

Geralt was peripherally aware of Yennefer behind him, standing guard at the cell door in case any more Nilfgaardians came. She said nothing and did not interrupt. Geralt could practically feel the tenseness of her shoulders, the thinness of her lips, the flinty rage eager to be unleashed. The gods themselves would not be able help anyone who interrupted them now, and Geralt was viciously glad of it.

“Jaskier,” he soothed, his breath mingling with the bard’s. Over and over again, for far too long he kneeled there, trying not to let the fear overtake him as Jaskier’s name tumbled forth from him like a gentle rain.

Slowly, something built behind those bright blue eyes. Slowly, they began to find focus. Eventually, the tiniest furrow formed between his eyebrows, and Jaskier blinked. Jaskier looked back at him, dazed and disoriented and pained but still _Jaskier_ , present and accounted for. Geralt could have shouted his jubilation.

“Geralt..?” he whispered through cracked lips. His voice was hoarse and terrible to listen to. 

Geralt hushed him, unable to bear the sound of that voice so broken. Yen would fix it, but not here.

“I’m here, you’re safe now. We’re getting you out.” His fingers still stroked over Jaskier’s cheeks.

Jaskier blinked again, rapidly, his mind slow to process, but he was taking it in, coming further to the surface. His face was tightening with pain under Geralt’s hands, his eyes filling with tears of relief, and Geralt knew it was time to go.

“Can you stand?” Geralt expected he knew the answer, but it gave Jaskier focus, grounded him further as he was forced to take stock of his physical state.

He looked down at himself as he uncurled in stiff movements. Geralt followed his gaze to his revealed hands, fingers broken and mangled. Fuck. Geralt grit his teeth.

“Yen will fix it,” he soothed. “It’ll be alright.” And it would be. The fingers were broken, but all present and accounted for. Jaskier nodded jerkily, his eyes flickering unsteadily over to Yennefer’s turned back, noticing her presence for the first time.

“Can you stand?” Geralt repeated, and after a moment Jaskier met his eyes again, shook his head.

“Burns,” he rasped.

Belatedly, Geralt realized he meant there were physical burns on his feet. On the bottom of his feet, where they rest on the dirty floor of the cell. They were likely already infected. Once Geralt got Jaskier to safety, he promised himself he’d return and burn this whole place to the ground.

“I’m going to lift you. It’s going to hurt, Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

The tears finally slipped down Jaskier’s cheeks but he only nodded, something steely slipping into his expression that Geralt recognized as the return of some of his old resilience. A fraction of his fear further dissipated. Jaskier would survive this, whole in body and mind. It would take time, but he was not lost.

As tenderly as he could, he lifted Jaskier into his arms, resolutely bracing himself against the hitched, sobbing gasps that Jaskier couldn’t hold back. But finally he had a firm grasp, Jaskier lying cradled with his head lolling in exhaustion against Geralt’s shoulder. He kept his maimed hands held protectively against his chest.

Yennefer finally turned to look at them properly, gaze flickering over Jaskier’s beaten form with a healer’s eye. Her expression was as tight with barely contained fury as he’d expected it to be. Maybe she’d like to help him with the arson. But that was for later. For now, they needed to go.

With a terse nod, Yennefer opened a portal, and for once Geralt didn’t complain.


End file.
